14. Chapter 14
Rylen
"You've been awfully crabby lately, Rylen," Astrid comments, not looking up from her tablet, where she’s perched on the sofa in Maddox’s office.
Crabby. That’s a pathetic word for the constant, grinding state of being I’ve been trapped in since I had my ear stitched back together.
The injury itself was minor, just the tip, but it refuses to settle.
It’s a failure in every sense of the word—a failure of my security, a failure of my body to heal and a failure to get a goddamn minute of peace.
My leg starts that frantic, silent tapping against the floor, a nervous tic I can’t stop.
I’m in constant pain. It’s not just throbbing; it’s a searing, dull pressure, and the worst part is how it amplifies everything.
Every added sound—the music from downstairs, the chatter in the halls, even the stupid, faint ping from Astrid’s tablet—all hurts.
It sends a spike of fire right through the bones behind my ear, and then everything else hurts.
It goes around and round and round. It’s never-ending pain.
I’m jittery and I can't stop tapping my leg because my fucking ear hurts, and I can't sleep on it, so I can't sleep period. I can’t ever fucking sleep, and I’m so exhausted that I walk around most days feeling nauseous. So then my head hurts, which makes my face hurt and my jaw tight because I'm clenching my teeth all night. There's so much pressure behind my eyes that I think I’m going to be sick or pass out—or both. I’ve been running on fumes for days, and the pain is using up the few drops of energy I have left. I just need it to stop hurting. I need things to go back to normal. But nothing is normal when you’re constantly expending effort just to stay upright.
"Just a few long nights, I'll get over it," I reply, forcing a tight-lipped smile that feels more like a grimace. I don't believe that for a second. Where the fuck is Maddox and what is this urgent meeting for?
As if being summoned by my thoughts, the door swings open and Maddox finally walks in, looking just as ragged as I feel.
Since the day after the threesome, things have settled into a stiff, polite friendship—neither of us mentioning the heat that almost burned the entire club down, not once, but twice now.
He's been otherwise distracted anyway; obsessed with Morrow, who has holed himself up in his villa like a coward.
I know Maddox hates him, but he won't touch the guy with his kids there.
Mads would never make them watch their father die the way he had to.
He doesn't even look at me as he sits behind his desk, dumping a stack of files onto the mahogany surface. " I can't settle on any these hires. The resumes look fine on paper, but I’m not signing off on anyone until Rylen looks them over," Maddox mutters, rubbing his temples.
Astrid straightens up, her eyes narrowing. "Maddox, we’ve already vetted the top three for the floor. We need bodies in those positions tonight."
"I don't care," Maddox snaps, his voice tight.
He finally glances at me, and for a second, I see a flicker of concern in his eyes before it vanishes.
"Rylen’s the one who has to deal with them on the ground.
So if he doesn't trust them, they don't get a keycard.
Period," he states, tone leaving no room for argument.
Astrid's mouth thins into a hard line, her annoyance radiating off her in waves.
She clearly doesn't love being sidelined, though she knows better than to argue when Maddox is in this kind of mood.
I lean forward, the movement sending a fresh jolt of white-hot agony through my jaw, and reach for the top file, my fingers trembling slightly as I flip it open.
I scan the names, the background checks, and the previous experience, then point to two names—the same two I know Astrid would have already recommended herself.
"These two," I mumble, my voice sounding like it’s coming from a distance.
"They’ve got the discipline for the VIP lounge. The rest are useless."
Astrid looks at the files, then back at me, her shoulders finally dropping an inch. She doesn't say thank you, yet the way she relaxes tells me I’ve picked the right ones. "Fine," she mutters, grabbing the files back. "I’ll get them processed, they'll start tonight."
Maddox nods, his gaze lingering on me for a second too long. Astrid’s heels click on the solid floor as she exits the room. "Go home, Ry. You look like shit," Maddox remarks, his voice is soft with a kind of affection that feels like a peace offering to the tension between us of late.
"What? I can’t go home. I don’t take time off, ever, not even sick days. I don’t need to. I’m not weak-willed. I stay until the job is done, and with Morrow breathing down our necks, the job is never done," I ramble out.
“It’s not a punishment,” he adds quickly, reading the argument in my posture.
Maddox stands up, moving around the desk with that slow, predatory grace that would usually make me want to bolt, except I’m too tired to move.
My head feels like it’s floating several inches above my neck, disconnected and heavy all at once.
"Go home and have a nap with Gremlin, you hardly spend any time with that damn cat anymore and she's made a habit of venturing into my room for attention," he says with a wrinkling of his nose.
Maddox stops inches from me. The smell of him—tobacco and that sharp distinct cologne I bought him—is the only thing grounding me to the floor.
He reaches out, his thumb ghosting over the line of my jaw again.
It’s a tender touch, but it’s enough to send a fresh wave of agony through the fresh scar tissue .
My eyes slip shut as a low, broken sound escapes my throat. I’m so fucking tired that I can’t even remember why I’m supposed to be keeping him at arm's length.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, his other hand coming up to cup the side of my face. His palms are warm, and for a second, the searing pressure behind my eyes actually seems to dull. “You’re so wound up I can practically hear your bones vibrating. Just... let go for five minutes, okay? For me?”
I nod, leaning into his palm and nuzzle in affectionately—it's an embarassing, pathetic, involuntary movement, but right now all my filters are gone. The walls I’ve spent years building are crumbling into the abyss.
I feel like I’m dreaming, like this is just another hallucination brought on by the three hours of sleep I’ve had in the last four days.
“Mads,” I breathe, the name catching in my raw throat.
I want to tell him it hurts. I want to tell him how much everything hurts. How tired I am of fighting what I want.
“It's okay,” he whispers, his thumb tracing the shell of my ear so gently it’s almost unbearable.
“I’ve got you.” He leans in, his forehead resting against mine, and the heat of him is the only thing keeping me upright.
My knees feel like they're made of jelly. I’m on the precipice of something—delirium, or a breakdown, or maybe just finally giving in.
“Kiss me,” Maddox breathes, looking up at me through thick dark lashes. “You want to, don’t you?”
“Don’t,” I pant, barely above a whisper, my eyes fluttering as I struggle to stay present. “Don’t fucking speak.”
He breathes out a laugh, a soft puff of air against my lips. “Why? Afraid I might be right?”
I pull back just enough to stare at him, searching for the line between the past and present, the one that we’ve completely eradicated.
All I can see is the same man who still calls Felicia up to his office night after night—a fact I haven’t stopped thinking about.
One that wasn’t erased with all the energy I’ve poured into exercising, chronically masturbating, and attempts at distracting myself with Bry.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, stepping back like the floor is catching fire.
The sudden distance makes the pain in my head roar back to life.
“You can’t just—” my words break off, and I shake my head, the movement making the room tilt dangerously.
This is all so fucking crazy. I take a steadying breath and start over, my conviction growing stronger even as my body fails me.
“You don’t get to blow up thirteen years of friendship just because you’re—what?
Bored? Confused? Or whatever the fuck this is.
” I gesture wildly in the space between our bodies, my hand trembling so hard I have to tuck it into a fist. Maddox straightens his shirt, eyes still on mine, dark and steady.
“You think that’s what this is? Confusion?” he asks, glowering. “I think,” I retort, my voice low and shaking with the effort of staying conscious. “You like fucking with people until they break. ”
Maddox’s smirk comes back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
My laugh is short and bitter. “You’ve got a real fucking mouth on you lately.”
Maddox steps back in, closing the gap I just fought to create.
He leans down, his lips hovering against the shell of my ear—the one that’s been screaming in pain for days.
His voice is tantalising, a low vibration that settles right in my bone marrow.
“Love, you haven’t even begun to learn what my mouth can do,” he purrs, his hands moving with a sudden, bold intent, tugging at my jeans until they’re hanging open around my hips.
That snaps the last shred of restraint within me.
“You want to be fucked by me so badly? Fine. Let’s get this over with and then I can be free of this,” I relent, reaching out behind him to swipe items off the desk, my movements jerky and uncoordinated.
Glass crashes to the floor, the sound exploding like a grenade in my sensitive ears.
I flinch, a sharp hiss escaping my teeth as the noise sends a fresh spike of fire through my jaw, but I don't stop. I can't stop.